Light a match

The Archer was growing tired of these fool games and allowed herself to audibly sigh, standing as she did so to leap from the turret to the body of the tank and then down to to the ground. "I ‘ave family in th’ south." She answered flatly, after all, it was true. She allowed herself a stretch, limbering up her limbs as she began to walk away. "Best o’ luck ter yer Fitz-Nytalen th’ chosen," she called back over her shoulder, one last glance at the stars to set her heading. Her own gods were calling.

"speech".